Ink Splattered Paper Aeroplanes
by Takato Lover16
Summary: The spinning ceiling fan captivating me, I considered my plan, every word for no in existence tugging me way, screaming from within. A two letter word couldn't be as destructive as my imagination had me to believe, could it?


_Hello, everyone! This is a brand new project from me; I'm going to attempt to write a short story every day, for a whole year! I'm going to put my iPod on shuffle, and whichever song plays, I'll base my next fanfiction upon that. _

_The stories with be numbered next to the title, as follow: (1), (2), (3), etc… _

_I hope you all really enjoy it, and I'll see you tomorrow, hopefully. :') :') _

_The date is June 7__th__ 2011. _

_Oh, and the song today is: 'Story of a Heart' _

_By The Benny Anderson Band. _

_And go on; give me a review or two. ;')_

(1) Ink Splattered Paper Aeroplanes

'I love you'

The nib of a pen watered the page, bending it with those final, fickle words. Gusts blew with apprehension, mirroring my mood perfectly; giving form to the anxiousness suffocating me nearer his door.

I sounded a knock, the noise bellowing back – titanic in the silence.

"Oh, Hi, Daisuke" He looked beautiful.

Moving to the side; with saying little more, Takeru swayed a hand through thin air – an invitation inside. Smiling as best I could, I concealed the freshly inked paper into my jacket pocket, finally out of sight.

"So, what brings you here?" I love you.

We sat in the privacy of his room, away from the noise and the silence.

Close, yet on other sides of the world.

"Do you remember, last year, when we were at the lake?" He looked at my voice; asking away, as neutrally as could be helped.

"You mean, when we met?" I hated how obvious I must've been.

Takeru became closer, shuffling himself across the bed sheets, creating oceans in his wake. I dared tread a look from the floor, and saw those azure eyes penetrating me; those perfect eyes covered by perfectly blonde hair, and added to by his perfectly perfect everything else.

I loved him.

"I began writing, a story"

"What about?" I'd dreaded that question, and it became so, so quickly.

The spinning ceiling fan captivating me, I considered my plan, every word for 'no' in existence tugging me way, screaming from within. A two letter word couldn't be as destructive as my imagination had me to believe, could it?

"Us" Too late.

"Us?" I hated myself.

"Us" That time.

From the balcony, leaning against a shivery railing, I barely opened sun-blinded eyes to negotiate the day. My sight descended to the street, littered with business women and men, police officers and just random passersby.

I sigh – the years behind me feeling heavy.

Sometimes, a little too wishful, I think I see Takeru, walking beyond the rising and setting sun, into and out of my life, now and again. I do see him; he could be boarding a bus to Paraguay or just jetting off to the Moon. Either way, he hasn't seen me since that night; when I left the story in his lap. Never looking back, I'd wanted him to come see me, yet, I'm still waiting.

Maybe he loved me back, but forgot his way to my house; maybe he got attacked by a gang of thugs and died in a coma; maybe he awoke with extreme amnesia; maybe his parents moved; maybe he lost my phone number; maybe the house burnt down; maybe he was actually an alien and was taken by the government for tests, maybe…

Maybe he just didn't love me – simple as that.

That story of love, of emotion, and of imagining something between us; that story I wrote; that story laid open wide; that stupid story, of tears, of everything, that story from the lake, that story I loved; the story of each drop of ink splattering, the story of truth; the story he'd never heard of, the story I wasn't sure of sharing; that story of I love you. The story I wrote; that story he read.

The story of a heart – my story of my heart.

I held outright, a new story, a story not even I have read. A story you'll read without even knowing it – a story I wish to meet you with.

Folded into a paper aeroplane, and let it soar with the wind – naively hopeful;

No destination.


End file.
